Poetry & Blood Ch. 04

Edited by Abby H.

*****

The sounds of slurping and sucking almost distracted Laura from Marcilla's words.

Almost.

She looked up briefly. She still couldn't believe Miss Lancaster was part of the Muse Sessions, but not only was the intimidating woman there, she was on her knees sucking Camille's toes and worshipping every inch of Camille's foot. Laura's boss was naked, but she kept her heels on while she served Camille. They were bright blue power heels that Laura could never pull off. Her free hand was pounding away at her pussy, and the sound and scent of her lust filled the room.

She wasn't alone. Angelica was here tonight as well. She was naked except for a garter belt that held nothing up. She wasn't on the floor this week. Currently, she was on the bed with Camille, eagerly licking Camille's clit and pumping three fingers in and out of Camille's pussy.

Grauman and Jacque stopped coming to the Muse Sessions a few days ago. It was Angelica for a little while (Camille and Laura hadn't been alone for a week), but two nights ago, Miss Lancaster joined them. There was no explanation or justification. Laura walked in, and Miss Lancaster was naked—except for her heels of course—and on her knees, waiting for Camille to step out of the bathroom.

Laura hesitated before reading further. Camille hadn't cum yet. She didn't want to start another poem if Camille was close, but each night, the Muse Sessions had gotten longer and longer. In the almost two weeks since Laura had arrived at the mansion, they'd covered almost half the book.

Camille thrashed on the bed for a moment, spasming. She was close. But when she sat up, glared at Laura, and pulled on Angelica's hair—smothering the blonde with her pussy—Laura knew to read on to the next one:

In Negative

When I step forward,

She does not flinch.

She does not look for

An insubstantial husband.

She does not turn an eye

To the women in the room.

Marcilla was impatient with Laura K. With each poem, she wanted to know why Laura K would put up with such a traditional life if it bored her. Past poems were lengthy attacks on Laura's husband and men in general. Some poems were agony as Marcilla speculated if Laura K was asexual. Her prey showed no more interest in women than men.

When I take her hand,

She does not hesitate.

She does not ask

Where I am taking her.

She does not blush

Or look away from intimacy.

Laura squirmed in her seat, sinking lower. Tonight might be the night. She lowered the book in her lap, pressing it down hard against her crotch. She wanted to cum, needed to cum, tonight. She hadn't been able to since her one-on-one Muse Session with Camille. No matter what happened, she could only get close if she was reading Marcilla, and they never read long enough for her to climax. But tonight, with two poems, she might be able to get off. She lifted her hips, grinding into the book. She couldn't stop reading, and she couldn't start touching herself in front of Camille, but maybe she could use Marcilla to help her alone.

She entered deep into her own mind. One part of her focus was in the room with Camille and the girls, transcribing symbols into sounds, moving her tongue and her lips to read those symbols aloud as words. But the core of her mind was in the room with Laura K and Marcilla. She could see them, finally alone in a separate room. No watching women. No husbands or men of any kind. Marcilla is hungry, aching, and Laura K is intrigued but detached. She watches Marcilla out of curiosity more than desire. Marcilla can't stop herself, she takes Laura K's hand. Of course, the prey doesn't mind. This is a more primal mating ritual. The predator must present herself, show her strength, fight off challengers. The woman, the prize, lounges in heat, deciding if the predator is worth spreading her legs.

When I kiss her wrist,

She does not recoil.

She does not permit

Her pulse to quicken.

She does not play coy

As she sighs into it.

Camille and Laura sighed at the same time. They burned with the words. Laura felt Marcilla's kisses start at her wrist. They were dry, but the air tingled above the skin as the phantom lips pulled away. The chilly sensation climbed up Laura's arm, and she sighed again.

Camille let out a growl. Laura looked up to see Miss K grab Miss Lancaster's hair and pull the Asian woman up off her knees, bringing her primary assistant onto the bed. Angelica's head was released, but the blonde didn't separate herself from Camille's pussy. Camille started to kiss Miss Lancaster, almost as if to devour the amazon of a woman, and Miss Lancaster's sighs joined the chorus.

When my tongue crawls up,

She does not hide her arm.

She does not cover her chest

As she leans into my kisses.

She does not utter a word

As I devour the taste of her.

Laura's sighs turned to moans as she began to hump the edge of the book's spine. She was close. She wanted to be devoured. She wanted to lean into Marcilla's kisses. She wanted the words to be true in her and for her. She wanted to be the words. More and more each day, she was sure she would succumb to Marcilla in a moment. Laura K was a fool. Everytime Laura envisioned her literary counterpart, Laura K was bored and sighing and yawning. She was languid and pale and weak. She didn't deserve Marcilla. Marcilla was blood and poetry. She was life and passion. She was lust and hunger. Laura K should give in. Laura certainly would.

Laura K's exposed chest was a mockery and tease, but it didn't heave with pleasure or excitement as Laura's did now. Her heart didn't threaten to burst or legs beg to give out as Laura's did now. The only thing the two Lauras had in common was their silence, though Laura certainly wished she could moan and howl as Camille and Angelica did now.

As my teeth graze her neck,

She does not beg to die.

She does not succumb to lust

As it thrums under paper skin.

She does not call out my name

As I retreat in shame.

Laura wouldn't retreat. She would pursue Marcilla, follow her, and beg to feel Marcilla's teeth on her skin. She would beg for flesh to be broken, blood to be free, and to finally let Marcilla devour her. Her skin was thin, and her body was ready. Laura K was such a fool. If skin was paper to Marcilla, let her write on you. Let her etch into you her precious words. Let it be in blood if it must be in anything. Bleed, and she owns you. Belong to her, and you'd be free.

Camille's body went tight as the poem ended. Laura looked up to see both Miss Lancaster and Angelica eating out their employer, their mistress, as Camille's body quivered with wave after wave of pleasure. The two women hovered over Camille's crotch, until Miss K's hands grabbed their back of their heads again and drew the two women into a kiss. They obeyed, making out and fingering themselves.

They were close. Laura was close. But they would have the privilege of cumming. For Laura, her frustration gave way to familiar darkness.

************

Laura woke from the fevered dream drenched with sweat, but a strange peace surrounded her. She wasn't sick or frightened. It wasn't a nightmare. No, it was the same dream as before: the cat curled up to her, she pet it, and it bit her breast. Once again, she didn't feel any pain. Instead, it was like relieving some pressure on her chest, something heavy she was carrying around.

She was covered in sweat, but worse than that, she was still wet from the night before. Or more like the week before. She was hoping she'd dream of Marcilla and be ready to cum as soon as she woke up. Hell, she'd accept cumming in her sleep if it meant relieving the constant distraction and pressure on her pussy.

The arousal was affecting her work. She had to read pages over and over because her mind would wander. She'd come back to focus three pages later and see she hadn't made a mark in almost two thousand words. That's never a good sign. Her productivity was more than halved and all her daydreaming and fantasies hadn't made her life any richer.

She could only get close to cumming if Marcilla was involved. She needed the words, the precious words, to draw her in. She tried to fantasize being Laura K, but that didn't work. Sometimes, if she imagined Marcilla coming for her, Laura Delazier, she would feel something stirring inside her. But it was nothing like the Muse Sessions. Nothing on this earth was like the Muse Sessions.

Laura wondered if she begged Camille, would her boss let her cum? Would she have to participate? Would she have to touch Camille, eat Camille, or let Camille touch her? Is that the cost of cumming? Is that the price Angelica and Miss Lancaster paid?

Laura hoped not. Yes, she was fantasizing about a woman, but Marcilla was both less than that and more than that. Marcilla was a figment of her imagination, larger than life and supernatural. Marcilla was also a historical figure. There was no chance of Laura ever meeting anyone like Marcilla. So, maybe one woman in all of history turned her on, but that woman was gone. Camille was nothing like Marcilla.

If Marcilla was in the Muse Session, sprawled out before her, nothing could stop Laura from offering herself, from begging to be devoured. But Camille or Angelica or Miss Lancaster were something different. They were too flawed, too human, to be Laura's lover. They didn't have the gravitas of the Marcilla in her mind. She wasn't a lesbian or anything.

Right?

It didn't matter. Marcilla's gender didn't matter. Laura imagined Marcilla as a dark haired man, hunting her, and she ached. She saw Marcilla as an ethereal platinum blonde with white hair, slowly stalking her through the night without yielding. Marcilla could be genderless or asexual. Laura didn't want Marcilla's body; she wanted her teeth. She wanted to feel the edges of them running over her skin, nibbling, caressing, and then biting. She wanted to feel the life come out of her and into Marcilla. She wanted to be less so Marcilla could be more.

Laura whimpered as her hand pressed harder against her clit. She couldn't get any closer. It didn't matter how hard she tried, how hot or kinky her fantasies were, she couldn't get any closer than a perpetual edge. Why was this happening? Why now? In a job full of beautiful and sexual people where she reads smutty romance by day and participates in orgies at night, why now, was she unable to cum?

She knew what she had to do. She had to beg Camille to let her cum. She had to join in. Perhaps, if she told Camille how nervous she was, she wouldn't have to touch her. She could read the words, the perfect and haunting words, and then sit in the corner of the room touching herself. She could cum with everyone else. They could all worship Marcilla together in one chorus of moans.

Laura's pussy was slick, and the sounds of her pumping her fingers in and out filled the room. Her scent was heavy in the air. She was close. Maybe she could do it. She had to try. She needed to cum. Yes, she would submit to Camille. Camille would lead her to Marcilla, like a priestess leading her to a goddess. Just the thought of it brought Laura closer. If she gave into Camille, it would be like giving into Marcilla, yes. Yes.

The door slammed open as Nikki burst into the room with a tray of food and two smoothies. "I know where the white haired girl is-" she started as walked in, but she stopped when she saw what Laura was doing.

Laura almost didn't stop. For a moment, she didn't care that Nikki was gawking at her. She was close. She was so damn close. This was her moment. But Nikki's shock turned to a grin of amusement, and the mood was dead.

"Shit," muttered Laura.

"I can come back," said Nikki. She put the tray of food down on Laura's desk. "Honest."

"It won't matter." Laura tossed the covers off the bed and stood up. "Mind if I shower?"

"Can I yell at you while you do it?" asked Nikki.

"Sure," said Laura with a shrug. Nikki didn't like to wait. Nikki didn't like silences. This meant that most mornings were filled with them shouting back and forth at each other over the shower curtain while Laura washed off the previous night's Muse Session.

Nikki had become like a roommate, quickly replacing Claire. She harassed Laura, mocked Laura, and pestered Laura with a hundred questions, but it was all strangely comforting. It was like background noise that fought off loneliness, and somewhere in all the pointless banter, Nikki would be a good ear for Laura and have remarkable insight and clarity.

Every morning, the two girls had breakfast together. Laura had finally accepted that she needed to have breakfast first thing to fight off the mysterious soreness that haunted her. But each day, she was getting stronger earlier in the day. Normally, all it took was a shower and smoothie and by nine a.m., she was her normal self.

"Still hot and bothered?" shouted Nikki over the hot water.

"Shut up," muttered Laura.

"What?" shouted Nikki.

"Sort of," shouted back Laura.

"Want to borrow my vibrator?"

"Ew?"

"I'll clean it first, jeeze. Don't be such a prude."

"It's not prudish to be sanitary."

"It's not like you don't know where it's been," shouted Nikki. "It's been in my pussy. That's all."

"Changing subjects now," shouted Laura.

"We need to get you laid."

"Changing subjects again," pleaded Laura.

"I'm serious. You've been a puddle for almost a week. When was the last time you got laid?"

"It's been a long time," admitted Laura.

"How long?"

"A year?" guess Laura. The last person was a bad hookup she found at a party as a rebound to finding out her boyfriend was cheating on her. She didn't remember the guy. She didn't remember the sex. She remembered finding a used condom in her flats the following morning. That sticks with you.

"Cheese and rice, a year?!"

"Not so loud," hissed Laura.

"A year?"

"That's not abnormal. It's practically healthy to have plenty of time between relationships."

"You don't need a relationship to get laid, hun."

"Don't I know it," muttered Laura.

"What?"

"I know it," shouted Laura.

"Are you almost done in there?" asked Nikki.

"I haven't even started shaving."

"You can shave out here."

"I have to shave ... everywhere," Laura said, her face going warm.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"I don't want you to see me naked."

"I've seen you with two fingers in your pussy and you're afraid of me seeing you with a razor over your bush?"

Laura didn't say anything for a long time. Nikki liked to tease her and push her buttons. She thought of Laura as a stereotypical book worm with no sex life and practically still a virgin. She was close, but she wasn't right. Lately, Laura imagined her thoughts were twice as depraved as Nikki's.

"I'm sorry," said Nikki. It sounded like her mouth was full. "That was too far."

"I know you were kidding."

"Still. Too far."

"Thanks," said Laura. "I'll be out soon." Laura grabbed her razor and started to work on her legs. "Any adventures in man-hunting last night?"

"Hunting is a strange term. It's more like fishing. I put my breasts out as bait, and the fish swarm to me."

"Catch any live ones?" said Laura, giggling at the bizarre metaphor.

"Just one, but I let him go."

"Aww why?"

"He was a tit grabber. It's a bad sign."

"Why so?"

"Anyone so eager to grope me in public is going to be shit in bed. He'll be all enthusiasm and no skill."

"Poor guppie," teased Laura.

"Poor me is more like it. If a man can't deliver, my night is wasted. I don't have abundant free time to get laid."

"Join the club. I'm booked each night until the end of time for Muse Sessions."

"Yikes," said Nikki. "They that bad?"

"Haven't you been to one?" Laura felt she was pushing her luck. She tried to avoid talking about the Muse Sessions with Nikki whenever she could. She wouldn't bring them up with Angelica or Miss Lancaster if she could help it. It was like talking about the naked pictures of them you found on the internet that they meant for the boyfriend. The acts in the Muse Session were for Camille. Everyone else acknowledged that they happened, but never spoke about what happened during them.

"No," said Nikki. "Not one."

"Really?" Laura assumed after Miss Lancaster appeared that there must be some type of rotation. Surely, Nikki's turn would come soon.

"Yeah."

"Why not?"

"They said I was too new. I hadn't earned the right to be there."

"But I get to go," said Laura.

"Yeah, but you read. They want to make sure I've been around for a year or so before I wait on Miss K during such a sensitive time."

"Do you know what goes on during one?"

"Not really," admitted Nikki. "I know it's supposed to be inspirational for Miss K's writing. Other than that, I have no idea besides poetry reading."

"Yeah, that's about it," lied Laura. "There's a little pomp and circumstance to it, like a meditation or a scene from Dead Poets' Society, but that's about it."

"Count me out," said Nikki. "Poetry is not my thing."

"It's pretty good poetry," admitted Laura. "Some of it is pretty hot."

"Oh really?"

Laura turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. "Really," she said and grabbed a towel.

"Is that what's got you wound up this morning, poetry?"

Laura pointedly did not answer the question. She dried her hair as best she could with the towel. She used a second towel for the rest of her body.

Nikki stepped into the bathroom, looked at Laura, and raised an eyebrow. "You know I'm the one that has to wash those, right?"

"I know," said Laura cheerily.

"Trying to annoy me isn't a good way to make me forget about your slutty morning."

Laura blushed and pushed past Nikki. "There's nothing slutty about masturbating."

"For me? Sure. For you? That's one step away from whoredom."

"What do you mean? I'm allowed to masturbate. I masturbate."

Nikki followed Laura into the bedroom. Laura picked out her clothes for the day: black pencil skirt, tight and sleeveless white blouse, plain white panties, and grey flats.

"How often?" said Nikki.

"How often what?"

"How often do you masturbate?"

"That's none of your business." Laura turned away, took off one of her towels, and thoroughly dried her body before getting dressed.

"Prude," taunted Nikki.

"Slut."

"If that's your word for a sexually active woman, you're just proving my point."

Laura turned around to face the redhead. "My god, you're incorrigible. Would you drop it?"

"Come with me tonight." Laura noted the lack of apology. "We'll go out. We'll find you a guy you can fuck and forget. It'll be fun."

"I don't think the big step in feminism and sexual freedom is to use men the way they've used us."

"I think the big step in feminism and sexual freedom is to do what you want and makes you feel good among consenting adults and not give a damn what others think."

Laura glared at her friend, then turned around and finished getting dressed. Nikki didn't say a thing while Laura got changed, and the silence between them quickly soured.

"Sorry," muttered Nikki when Laura turned around again.

"It's fine," sighed Laura.

"Convincing."

"I'm not trying to convince you."

"Clearly."

They both went over to Laura's desk. Laura sat down and started eating. Nikki cleaned her plate and watched Laura guzzle down her smoothie.